Chapter 6 2
When Jenny was about five months pregnant, it occurred to her one night that we needed some baby socks.Well, we do, I agree, and, of course, we should be fully prepared before the baby arrives.But she doesn't mean we'll need baby socks eventually, she means we need them now. "When we came home from the hospital, we didn't have anything to put on the little baby's feet," she said sadly in a trembling voice.
Never mind that the delivery date is four months away; never mind that it will be ninety-six degrees outside by then; never mind that even a dumb man like me knows that when a baby leaves the maternity ward At the right time, it will be tightly bundled into a package from head to toe.
"Come on, honey," I said, "be reasonable. It's eight o'clock on Sunday night. Where am I going to find baby socks?"
"We need socks," she repeated.
"We've got weeks to get the socks ready," I countered. "Correct, it's months to get the socks ready."
"I just see those little toes," she whimpered.
There is nothing I can do.Driving around, disgruntled, I finally spotted a store that was still open and picked out a very festive-looking set of socks.These baby socks are ridiculously small and look like they would be perfect as thumb warmers for the winter.When I got home, I dumped these socks out of the bag.Jenny was finally content.We finally have socks.And, thank God, we managed to snag the last few pairs of baby socks we could get before the national supply ran out.Our little baby's tiny, delicate toes are now finally safe.We can go to bed and sleep soundly.
As the pregnancy cycle continued to grow, Marley's training continued to improve.I go out for a walk with him every day.Now I can entertain my friends at home and yell, "Come in!" and watch Marley lay on the floor, all fours sprawled.I issue the "come" command, and he obeys (unless something firmly catches his eye, such as another dog, cat, squirrel, butterfly, postman, or fluttering ryegrass); sitting position (unless he has a strong desire to stand); he obediently follows me (unless there is something so tempting that it is worth the price of his neck being strangled—see dogs, cats, squirrels etc).He's making progress, but that's not to say he's matured into a calm, well-behaved, well-behaved dog.If I stood high in front of him and gave orders loud and stern, he would obey me obediently, sometimes even eagerly.However, his "default state" remains external irremediable.
He has an insatiable desire for mangoes.There are dozens of mangoes that fall from the trees in the backyard, each weighing about a pound or so, and they are very sweet.Marley would stride across the grass, use a mature mango tree as a port, and anchor his front paws like a ship "broken down" under the tree, and then perform surgery The outer skin of the mango is generally removed.He would hold a chunk of the pulp in his mouth like a cough lozenge, and when he finally spit it out, it looked like it had just been washed in an acid bath.Some days he would stay there for hours at a time, devouring a fruit meal like crazy.
If a person eats too much fruit, his body structure will undergo some changes, and the same is true for dogs.Before long, our backyard was covered with piles of fluffy, brightly colored dog poop.One benefit of this is that you'll have to legally ignore the occasional step on one of the piles that, during mango season, fluoresce orange like cones. traffic road sign.
He also likes to eat some other things.And these things are also passed through his esophagus, and finally excreted through the anus.Every morning, as I shoveled through his piles of shit, I could see the evidence: a plastic toy soldier here, a rubber band there, and at the top of the pile a A torn cap from a soda bottle, and a chewed-out ballpoint pen cap in another pile of shit. "Now I know where your comb is!" I yelled to Jenny in the house one morning.
He also eats bath towels, sponges, used Kleenex Kleenex.Toilet paper was his favorite object, and when they finally emerged from the other side of his body, they looked like little blue flags stuck in these fluorescent orange hills.
Not everything is easy to swallow, and Marley will deftly and regularly vomit out the core of inedible items.We'd hear him make a loud "cluck clack" in the next room, and by the time we rushed in, we'd see yet another household item lying in a pile of half-digested mangoes and dog food in the paste.Marley was so thoughtful that he never vomited on the hardwood floors or even the kitchen linoleum, he always aimed for the expensive Persian rug.
Jenny and I mistakenly believed that we could trust a dog to be left alone in the house for short periods of time without major problems.Every time we went out, Marley would be locked in the "bunker" garage, which would make him feel extremely tedious and tedious, as Jenny said: "If when you come back What's the point of having a dog if he can't greet you at the door when you come home?" Of course, we also know that if there is a possibility of a storm, then we dare not let him live without his company. left alone in the house.Even with his dog sedated, he still proved capable and energetic digging his way out as far as China.Although when the weather is nice we don't want to have to lock him in the garage every time we go out for a few minutes.
When we run to the store or visit a neighbor's house, we start trying to leave it alone in the house for a while.Sometimes he behaved well and when we returned home we found everything in the house intact.In these days, we found that his black nose would be pressed against the window of the bedroom. It turned out that he was just staring out of the window like this, waiting for our return like looking through the autumn water.On other days, his performance was not so good. We usually knew before we opened the door that there would be a lot of trouble waiting for us, because he didn't squat in front of the window, but I don't know where to hide again.
When Jenny was six months pregnant, we hadn't been out for an hour, and when we got home we found Marley hiding under the bed—he looked as if he had just murdered the postman.He was full of guilt.But the house doesn't look wrong, but we know that he must be hiding some kind of ulterior secret.We went from room to room trying to figure out what the hell he was up to again.Then, I noticed that one of the foam covers on the stereo speakers was missing.We looked everywhere, but there was no trace.If I couldn't find incontrovertible evidence of his guilt, I'd spent my exhausted patrol until the next morning, and Marley might get away with it.The remnants of the speaker cover surfaced after a few days.
During our second outing, Marley surgically removed the woofer cone from the same speaker.There's no way the speaker could have been eaten by him.The speaker cone is also missing, as if someone had sliced it off with a razor blade.Another time we came home to find only three legs left of our four legged footstool but couldn't find any trace of it, not even a wooden splinter of the missing leg .
We thought it never snowed in South Florida, but one day, when we opened the front door, we found that the bedroom was completely "snowstormed", and the air was full of white soft feathers falling.Through the milky white sky that resembles the atmospheric light that appears in the polar regions, we see Marley squatting in front of the fireplace, half hidden in the "snow" that is blowing in the wind, frantically moving the His feather pillow swung from side to side as if he had just hunted an ostrich.
For the most part, we take a sanguine view of our losses.Because we know that every dog owner will inevitably suffer from the loss of some precious family heirlooms in his life.However, once, I was so angry that I almost wanted to disembowel Marley in order to regain my treasure.
To celebrate Jenny's birthday, I specially bought her an eighteen-carat gold necklace, a slender chain with a small clasp, and she immediately put the necklace on her neck.But, hours later, she put her hand to her throat and screamed, "My necklace! It's gone!" The clasp must have come loose, or hadn't been fastened at all.
"Don't panic," I told her, "we haven't left the house. Then the necklace must be somewhere." We began a careful and thorough search of the house, room by room.As we searched, it dawned on me that Marley was acting more frantic than usual.I stood up straight and looked at him.He was wriggling like a centipede.When he realized he was being watched by me, he started to run away. "Oh no!" I thought to myself. - Marley's Mambo!This can only mean one thing.
"What's that," Jenny asked, her voice full of horror, "hanging out of his mouth?"
What hung from his mouth was thin and golden. "Oh shit!" I said.
"Don't act rashly," Jenny ordered, her voice dropping quickly to a whisper.We both froze in place.
"Ok, boy, it's okay," I coaxed him patiently, like a hostage negotiator in a special warfare armored transport unit, "we're not going to do anything to you. Come here now. We just want the necklace back That's all." Jenny and I started to surround him from opposite directions, we moved cautiously and slowly, as if he had a bomb strapped to his body, and one wrong movement would wipe him out.
"Relax, Marley," said Jenny in her calmest voice, "Relax now. Put the necklace down, and no one's going to hurt you."
Marley looked at us suspiciously, his head bobbing rapidly back and forth between Jenny and me.We cornered him, but he knew he had what we wanted.I could see he was weighing his options, perhaps making some blackmail request. "Put two hundred unbranded beef bones in a common bag, or you'll never see your precious little necklace again."
"Put it down, Marley," I whispered, taking another small step forward.His whole body began to sway.I crept closer to him step by step.And Jenny also surrounded him from the flank without anyone noticing.We're already within striking distance.We glanced at each other hastily, knowing without words what to do next.Through countless previous drills to save property, we've known it's time to take various actions.Jenny would pounce on Marley's hind legs and hips, pinning him down so he couldn't escape, and I'd run at his head, snap his jaw open, and snatch the contraband he'd stolen.If we're lucky, we'll be able to make the arrest in seconds.That's our plan.And Marley already felt that he was about to be "taken by the dog".
We are not two steps away from him.I nodded to Jenny and lip-smacked her, "Count to three." But before we could move, he threw his head back and let out a loud bang.The end of the necklace that was hanging out of his mouth just now disappeared into his mouth. "He's eating the necklace!" Jenny screamed.The two of us rushed towards him, Jenny grabbing his hind legs while I held his head under my arm.I forcefully opened his jaw, and then put my whole hand inside his mouth, all the way down his throat.I feel for every flake and crevice, but find nothing. "Too late," I said resignedly, "he'd swallowed the necklace." And the best feedback Marley could give us was a loud, contented burp.
Marley appears to have won the battle for the time being, but we know that our victory is only a matter of time.The forces of justice are on our side.I knew that if I was willing to poke around in his shit long enough, I'd find the necklace sooner or later.Had it been a silver chain, or a gilt chain, or something less expensive, my sense of disgust would have prevailed and prevented me from such a petty act.However, the necklace is of solid gold, and I have spent a considerable sum on it.So, no matter how disgusting it is, I will do my best.
So I got Marley his favorite looser—a big bowl of sliced, overripe mangoes—and the long wait began.For three days straight, every time I let him out, I followed him, eager to pounce with my shovel.Instead of throwing his poop over the fence, I carefully placed each pile on a wide plank in the grass and poked a twig into it while using a garden hose Do the jetting and gradually flush the digesta into the grass, leaving any unfamiliar material behind.I felt like a gold miner, only to find a bunch of worn-out items Marley had swallowed, from shoelaces to guitar shrapnel.But there was no trace of the necklace.Where did it go?Why hasn't it come out yet?I began to wonder if I had missed something, perhaps accidentally washed the necklace into the grass, and if so, it would have been lost forever.But how could I miss a twenty-inch gold necklace?Jenny watched my recycling operation from the porch with eager, keen interest, and even had a new nickname for me. "Hey, Mr. Animal Waste Scavenger, how's your luck?" she yelled at me.
On the fourth day, my perseverance finally paid off.I scooped up Marley's latest poo, repeated my first three days of recycling -- it's become my life's motto, "I can't believe I'm doing this" -- and started using Branches brushed away piles of manure and hosed them down.As the feces disappeared, I looked for clues to the necklace.But nothing.I almost gave up when I saw something odd - a brownish nub about the size of a lima bean.While it wasn't big enough to be the missing charm, it clearly didn't seem to belong there.Using the twig that I had officially named the "dung stick," I picked the piece out and slammed it against the mouth of the hose.When the water washed the thing clean, I found it had an unusually bright sheen.found it!I found the gold necklace.
The necklace was unbelievably squashed, several times smaller than I thought it would be.It seems that some unknown external force, perhaps a black hole, sucked the necklace into a mysterious space-time dimension before spitting it out.And, in fact, that's how it is.The strong currents of water began to loosen the hard mass, and the gold nuggets gradually untangled and returned to their original shape.Like brand new.No, actually better than new.I took the necklace into the room to show Jenny, and she was overjoyed to find it back, though there was something suspicious about the chain's transformation.We're all amazed by the blinding brilliance of the chain now - even brighter than when we bought it back.Marley's stomach acid worked wonders.This is the most brilliant gold I have ever seen. "God," I said, whistling, "we should start a cleaning business."
"We could make a lot of money off those rich widows in Palm Beach," Jenny agreed.
"Yes ma'am," I said, imitating the voices of the most seasoned salesmen, "our patented secret method is not available in any other store! The proprietary 'Marley Method', Will restore your precious jewelry to a brilliance you never imagined."
"It's possible, Gerogan," Jenny said, and sterilized her lost birthday present.She wore that gold chain for many years, and every time I looked at it, the brief but momentous success I had in gold jewelry speculation many years ago came alive in my memory. In front of my eyes, it seemed like it happened yesterday.Mr. Animal Waste Scavenger and his trusty poop stick are like no one else before, nor since.
The important moment of welcoming a first child comes only once in a lifetime, so when St. Mary's Hospital in West Palm Beach offered us the option of paying extra for an expensive birthing suite, we jumped at it accepted this opportunity.The maternity suite looks like a top-end hotel suite—large, bright, and furnished with wood furniture, patterned wallpaper, drapes, a bathroom with a jacuzzi, and a table just for the dad-to-be. The comfortable sofa is a bed after opening.The food served to the "guests" in this suite is not the standard hospital food, but a gourmet meal.You can even order a bottle of champagne, though it's mostly left to the first-time dads to gulp it down alone because the mothers, who have to breastfeed, can't soak up the celebratory spirit.
"God, this is like a vacation!" I yelled, jumping onto the "Daddy Couch," as if we had taken a trip a few weeks before Jenny was due.
Birthing suites cater to upper-middle-class young professionals and are a big source of economics for hospitals, raking in big cash from couples who can afford to pay for the standard safety equipment for childbirth.We admit this has some luxury, but why not?
When it came time for Jenny's big day, we rushed to the hospital with excursion bags in hand.We were told there was a slight problem.
"A question?" I asked.
"Today must be a good day to have a baby," said the receptionist cheerfully. "All the birthing suites are full."
full?This is the most important day of our lives.So, no more comfy couches, romantic dinners for the couple, and champagne? "Now, wait a minute," I grumbled, "we booked it a few weeks ago."
"I'm sorry," the woman said, with a distinct lack of empathy in her tone. "We can't control the situation accurately when many mothers are in labor at the same time."
She directed us to another floor where we would be assigned a standard hospital room.However, when we arrived at the maternity ward, the nurse at the consultation desk told us more bad news. "Do you believe every ward is full?" she said.No, we cannot accept this unfortunate reality.Jenny seems to want to make big things small and small, but I'm already extremely irritable now. "So you're suggesting we, go to the parking lot and have the baby?" I growled.
The nurse smiled calmly at me, clearly used to the antics of nervous expectant fathers, and said, "Please take it easy. We'll find a place for you."
After a few phone calls, she led us down a long hallway and through a few doors before we found ourselves in what seemed to be a mirror image of the maternity ward we had just left. Where there is one stark difference—the patients are clearly not the collar-dropping, middle-class disposable-income professionals who took the psychological midwifery course with us.We could hear the nurses talking to the patients in Spanish, and the brown men with straw hats in their gnarled hands waited nervously in the corridor outside the rooms.Palm Beach County is known as a recreational destination for the sensual and wealthy, but what is less well known is that it is also dotted with vast farmlands that have been drained from swamps that stretched for miles west of town.Thousands of migrant workers, mostly from Mexico and Central America, migrate to South Florida each growing season to pick the peppers, tomatoes, lettuce, and celery that feed the East Coast's winter vegetable needs.It seems that we have discovered the place where these migrant laborers gave birth to their children.A woman's scream of pain would periodically cut through the air, followed by horrific groans and cries of "My God!"This place sounds like a horror house.Jenny's face turned pale with fright.
The nurse ushered us into a tiny room with a bed, a chair, and a bunch of electronics, and then handed Jenny a set of pajamas to change into. "Welcome to the poor man's ward!" Dr. Sherman quipped when he arrived like a breeze a few minutes later. "Don't be fooled by the overview of the room," he said.The hospital is equipped with the latest medical equipment and the nurses are the best trained.Because poor women often do not have access to antenatal care, they take great risks to become pregnant.When Sherman announced that Jenny's water had broken, he assured us that we would be well taken care of.Then, he left the ward as quickly as when he came.
It was true, and Jenny struggled with intense contractions as the morning wore on.We found ourselves to be very well cared for indeed.The nurses are experienced professionals who radiate confidence and warmth. They surround Jenny and take care of her carefully, checking the baby's heartbeat and instructing Jenny how to deal with it alone.I stood by, unable to offer any help, trying my best to be supportive of my wife who was alone, but it didn't help much.Every time the labor pain hit, Jenny would yell at me through gritted teeth and say, "If you show me how to do it again, I'm going to tear your face out!" I should look Hurt because a nurse came up to me, patted me on the shoulder sympathetically, and said, "Welcome to the labor process, expectant fathers. Getting the yelling is part of the experience."
I started sneaking out of the room to join the other men waiting in the hallway.Each of us leaned against the wall outside our respective wards, as if to be away from the screams and groans of our wives inside.I felt kind of funny, I was wearing a khaki jersey, but the farm workers didn't seem to put me off because of it.Soon we were smiling and nodding to each other.They don't speak English and I don't speak Spanish, but that doesn't stop us from being connected.Because we are in the same situation at the moment and have similar feelings.
I learned that day that pain relief is a luxury, not a necessity, in America.For those who can afford it—or those with health insurance, as my wife and I do—hospitals can offer spinal intradural injections, which deliver pain medication directly to the central nervous system.About four hours after Jenny was in labor, an anesthesiologist came in and injected a long needle into the skin over her spine, then connected it to an IV.Within minutes, Jenny was numb from the waist down, and she could finally rest comfortably for a while.The Mexican women nearby were not so lucky and had to give birth the traditional way, so their shrill cries continued to pierce the air.
Hours passed.Jenny pushed the baby out hard.And I was on the sidelines guiding.When night fell, I walked out of the ward and came to the corridor with a small baby in my arms.I held my newborn son high above my head for my new Mexican friends and yelled, "It's a boy!" The other dads smiled and gave their thumbs up. A signal of international approbation.Instead of our fierce battle over the names of our puppies, we settled on the name of our firstborn son, Patrick, the first Irish immigrant in our Gerrogan family, with ease and almost immediately. The name of the ancestors who came to the United States.A nurse came to our cubicle and told us that a birthing suite was now available.But it doesn't seem to make much sense to change rooms now, but she helped Jenny sit in a wheelchair, held our son in her arms, and took us away briskly.And the gourmet dinner was nothing like it was advertised to be.
In the weeks leading up to Jenny's due date, Jenny and I had long conversations about how to adjust to the arrival of Marley, our soon-to-be fourth member of the family. , would immediately supplant Marley's undisputed status as by far the most beloved sojourner.We want him to gradually accept the reality of taking a backseat.We hear many stories of pet dogs who develop horrific jealousy over newborns and act out in unacceptable ways, such as urinating on expensive items, knocking over prams, Or launch a direct attack on the baby - these crazy moves often give the dogs a "one-way ticket" to the stables.When we converted a spare bedroom into a nursery, we opened up Marley to the crib, quilt, and all other baby equipment.He smelled the baby stuff, drooled, and licked it until his curiosity was fully satisfied.After Jenny gave birth, I spent another thirty-six hours in the hospital recovering, during which time I shuttled frequently between the hospital and the home to see Marley, with the baby basket and other baby-smelling babies in my arms. s things.On one of my visits home with Marley, I even brought home a tiny piece of used baby "diapers," which Marley sniffed with such interest that I feared he might I want to absorb it with my own nostrils, which will require more expensive medical expenses.
When I finally brought mom and baby home, Jenny carried Patrick, who had fallen asleep in his pram, into the middle of our bed, and then went with me into the garage to greet Marley, the three of us There was a very loud reunion party in the garage.We brought Marley inside as he went from utterly insane to utterly happy.We began our plan, not to point out the baby to him, but to hang around and let him discover the newcomer on his own.
Marley followed Jenny into the bedroom, poking his nose into Jenny's unbuckled travel bag.He obviously didn't know there was a new life in our bed.Then Patrick moved and let out a small, bird-like chirp.Marley's ears perked up instantly, and then he froze. "Where did that sound come from?" Patrick chirped again, and Marley raised a paw in the air like a flying dog.My God, he's pointing at our little baby like a hound is pointing at... its prey.At that very moment, I thought of the feather pillow he had attacked with such ferocity.Was he so stupid that he mistook a baby for a pheasant?
Then he lunged forward.But it's not a ferocious "kill the enemy" pounce, because he doesn't show his teeth or growl.It's not a "welcome the neighborhood buddy" swoop, however.His chest hit the mattress with such force that the whole bed shook on the floor.Patrick was fully awake now, his eyes wide open.Marley took a few steps back, then lunged again, this time with his mouth just inches from our newborn's toes.Jenny rushed at the baby and I rushed at Marley, dragging him back by his collar with both hands.Marley was frantic, pulling his neck at the new life that had somehow sneaked into our closet.He hopped on his hind legs, and I tugged on his collar to pull him back, feeling like a lone guerrilla. "Okay, don't get excited," I said.
Jenny put Patrick in his stroller seat and I held Marley between my legs, gripping the collar tightly with both fists.Even Jenny could see that Marley was no longer dangerous.He was out of breath and grinned dully.Jenny moved closer, allowing Marley to sniff first the baby's toes, then his feet, calves, and thighs.The poor little guy was only a day and a half old, and he almost suffered an attack.When Marley's nose reached the baby's diaper, he seemed to enter an altered state of consciousness, a trance of immense intoxication.He was like a pilgrim arriving at a holy place.The dog definitely looked like he was suffering from "euphoria."
"One wrong move, Marley didn't intend to hurt Patrick." Jenny reminded.indeed so.If Marley had shown even the slightest aggression toward the baby, he would have gotten his way long ago.But he didn't.It didn't take long for us to realize that our problem wasn't keeping Marley from hurting our little one.The trouble we have to deal with is how to keep him out of diapers.
As the weeks and months passed, Marley came to accept Patrick as his best friend.One night, when I turned out the light and went to bed, I couldn't find Marley anywhere.Finally, it occurred to me that I should go to the nursery, and there he was, sprawled out on the floor next to Patrick's crib, the two of them snoring in unison and echoing like a stereo. Like brothers.Marley, our untamed, reckless Mustang, was never quite the same around Patrick.He seems to understand that this is a fragile, defenseless little person, and whenever he gets close to Patrick, he will move carefully, licking his little face and ears very tenderly.When Patrick started to crawl, Marley would lie quietly on the floor and let the baby climb on top of him like a mountain, tugging at his ears, poking his eyes, pulling down A handful of hairs.These behaviors do not make him feel tortured and disturbed.Marley would squat like a statue.他是帕特里克身旁的一位和善的巨人，他温和地自动放弃了曾经的首席地位，接受了自己如今退居为交响乐队中第二小提琴部的地位。
并不是每一个人都会同意我们对我们的狗的这种盲目信任的做法。他们看到的是一个野蛮的、经常有难以预料之举的、强有力的野兽——到目前为止，他已经接近一百镑的重量了——而且认为，我们如此信任地让他待在一个毫无防备能力的婴儿身边，是一种鲁莽的冒险行为。我的母亲便坚定地站在这一阵营之中，而且毫无畏缩地让我们知道了她的想法。对她来说，眼睁睁地看着马利舔着自己的孙子，简直是一种痛苦的折磨。“你们知道马利的那条舌头曾经去过哪里吗？”她会讲究修辞地问道。她充满忧郁地提醒我们说，我们决不应当把一只狗和一个小婴儿单独地留在同一个房间里面。祖先食肉的本能在没有任何警戒的情况之下会浮出水面的。如果换了是她，她会时时刻刻在帕特里克和马利之间筑起一道坚固的城墙。
有一天，当她从密西根州前来看望我们的时候，客厅里传来了她的尖叫声。“约翰，快来！”她惊恐万分地叫喊道，“这只狗正在咬小宝宝！”我从卧室里冲了出来，身上的衣服还没来得及穿好，发现帕特里克正快乐地在他那有发条的秋千上摆动着，而马利则躺在他的身下。马利并没有真的在咬小婴儿，这只是我那位惊慌失措的母亲的担心罢了。马利把自己的位置直接安排在帕特里克的“飞行”路线上，他的头刚好就在帕特里克的下面，小婴儿用绳子缚在一个布质的吊索里，在摇摆向相反的方向之前，在每一个弧的顶点处便会停下来。每一次，当包裹在帕特里克小屁股上的尿布来到了攻击距离之内时，马利便会好玩地轻轻咬上一口，而因为屁股被轻轻地戳碰了一下，所以帕特里克快乐地发出了长而尖的叫声。“哇，妈妈，这没什么，”我说道，“马利只是在闻帕特里克的尿布而已。”
詹妮和我逐渐形成了一种惯例。夜间的时候，每隔几个小时，她便会起床给帕特里克喂奶，而我则会在早上六点钟起来给孩子喂奶，这样詹妮就可以睡上一会儿。我将帕特里克从婴儿床里抱起来，给他换一片尿布，然后为他冲一瓶婴儿牛奶。这之后便是“发薪水”的时刻了：我坐在门廊上，帕特里克那小小的、温热的身体舒适地偎依在我的怀里，吸吮着牛奶瓶嘴。有时候，我会把自己的脸放在他的小脑袋上，当他贪婪地吃着奶的时候，我便可以乘机打一下盹儿。有时候，我会听着国家公共电台，注视着黎明的天空从紫色变为粉红，再变成蓝色。当他吃饱的时候，他便会打一个饱嗝，然后我就会给他以及我自己都穿好衣服，向马利吹声口哨，带着他俩一起沿着码头散会儿步。我们推着一个轻便的婴儿车，这种车有三个大大的自行车轮胎，这样便可以方便地到任何地方，包括沙滩里和路沿上。我们三个原本可以每天早上都不错的观光一番的，但是马利总会在前面冲锋陷阵，仿佛自己是一只雪橇狗，而我则在后面为了我们宝贵的生命不至于无故牺牲而奋力地向后猛拉，帕特里克则处在中间，开心地在空中挥舞着他的小手臂，犹如一位交通警察。等我们回到家的时候，詹妮便会起床煮咖啡。我们将帕特里克放进他的高背椅里，用带子缚住，然后为他将婴儿奶粉涂抹在盘子里，而马利则会在我们转身的一霎那间将奶油偷走——他将头搁在盘子的边缘，然后用他的舌头将奶粉卷进自己的嘴巴里。“从一个婴儿嘴里偷食吃，”我们心想，“还有比这更卑鄙的行为吗？”不过，帕特里克似乎被这整个过程逗得非常开心，很快，他便学会如何将自己的奶粉推到盘子边缘，这样他便能够看着马利将其抢夺一空、然后在地板上贪婪地吃起来的样子了。帕特里克还发现，如果他把奶粉放到自己的膝盖上，那么马利便会将头探到盘子的下面，当他寻找着行迹不定的奶粉时，他的头便会摩擦着帕特里克的肚子，这让帕特里克大笑不止。
我们发现，为人父母的角色非常适合我们。我们已经习惯了它的节奏，庆贺着它所带给我们的简单快乐，对于我们在其中所经历的一些挫败咧嘴而笑，并且知道，即使那些十分糟糕的日子，不久也将会成为无比珍贵的回忆。我们已经拥有了我们所渴望的一切。我们拥有了我们的小宝贝。我们拥有了我们笨笨的狗。我们拥有了我们靠近码头区的小房子。当然，我们还拥有彼此。那年的十一月，我被报社提升为专栏作者，这是一个令人艳羡的位置，能够给予我一周三次的属于自己的版面空间，让我可以尽情地倾吐自己的想法。生活实在是太美好了！在帕特里克九个月大的时候，在我们能够开始考虑希望再要一个小宝宝的时候，詹妮惊讶地大叫起来。
“哦，我不知道。”我说道。我们一直想着再要一个孩子，可是我并没有真的考虑期限问题。重复一遍我们刚刚所经历的一切，似乎并不是一件仓促的行为。“我想我们可以再次不使用避孕措施，然后看看会发生什么。”我提议道。
“啊，”詹妮故意说道，“你不是很讨厌有计划地授孕吗？忘了以前你多么害怕我又拿出生理周期表要求你做爱的事情了吗？”
“嗨，不要提了，”我说道，“那都是过去的事了。”
于是我们便这样做了。我们计算着，如果我们希望在明年的某个时候生宝宝的话，那么现在便是时机了。詹妮算了一下，然后说道：“如果说我们六个月之后怀孕的话，然后再过九个月生产，这样一来，他们两个之间便会隔上整整两岁。”
我认为这听起来不错。两年时间足够长了。因为我曾经证明过自己有能力担负起男人“播种”的职责，所以这一次我不再感到有任何的压力。没有焦虑，没有紧张。一切都会正常。
一个星期之后，詹妮便因我的男人风采而疲惫不堪了。